Wrapped in Piano Strings
by Feelitallaround
Summary: Clarys whole life has been full of secrets and lies, only she doesn't even know it. One day... she's attacked and everything falls apart as shes thrown into a world wind of a life she never knew. Clary/Jace.
1. Chapter 1

****The characters** of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare.******

**I didn't really take the time to read through this carefully, so any mistakes are a my bad and just try not to acknowledge them too much. Sorry!**

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><p><strong>Chapter one: Benny's Diner.<strong>

Clary sighs; glancing around the nearly empty diner, the only other person in the small place is the chef who stands behind a worn stovetop belting out the lyrics to a Beatles song that plays loudly throughout the place. Clary can hear the irritating sound of the metal spatula making it's way over the dirty stovetop, over and over again. She lets her head fall to where her chin touches her chest; she let's go of her now cold coffee, rubbing her fingers against her temples. She can't understand why this man who she's known for the past fourteen plus years can't seem to shut up. She can practically hear her headache pounding in her ears, nothing's worst for a headache then a bad singer singing the Beatles. It's nothing new though. Clary knows for a fact that if she really wanted piece and quiet she could've went somewhere else, or simply stayed home, but she needed out of the house and this is the only place she actually feels safe nowadays.

Clary's lived in this city her whole life, totaling it up to sixteen long years of growing. Her presence isn't unknown around this old diner, she's been going here since before she could remember. Her mom used to take her here often when she didn't want to cook; which seemed to happen a lot, seeing that Clary's mother, Jocelyn, can't cook worth crap. Everything she cooks always seems to turn out burnt and bitter, always successfully making Clary gag. New York City is a large city with a lot of little restaurants that nobody would ever find or know of; which is why Clary finds _Benny's Diner _even more interesting and delicious then any other small joint she's ever visited. Benny, the old chef and proud owner, knows how to whip up a mean cheeseburger better then anyone else in this whole city and state combined.

A loud ring sounds throughout the place, echoing off the dirty wallpapered walls. Clary doesn't bother to look up; she knows that sound too well. Someone just walked in and it happens to never be anyone worth looking up for. Instead she focuses on her sketchbook, her pencil clad hand ghosting over the landscape on the paper. Clary wipes off the pencil marks that smear across her right hand on the napkin that lays crumpled next to her. She bites her lip looking down at the sketch she had just drawn. She studies it for a moment before realizing what exactly it is, her hand jerks to the left knocking the small white coffee cup off the table. The coffee cup shoots out, crashing to floor with a loud shatter.

Benny lets out a loud laugh from behind the counter. "Jeez, Cdubb! What is this? The third time this week?"

Clary rolls her eyes at the nickname 'Cdubb', Benny has been calling her that since she turned ten and decided to dress up like a male rapper for the day. "Sorry Benny . . . I, uh, got distracted." She mumbles while running her hand through her unruly curly red hair. The mess on the floor makes her sigh, she wants to rest not be cleaning up her spilt messes. The thought makes Clary feel like a child though, and it bugs her to no end. She doesn't want anyone cleaning up any messes for her; she can do it perfectly on her own.

"Obviously." Benny scoffs, but chuckles an instant later. "Try to be careful, I won't have any mugs by the end of the week if your clumsy ass keeps knocking them to the floor."

"My clumsy ass," Clary mocks, "Is your only interesting customer lately. If I were you, I'd be a tad nicer to her." She pauses for a moment before bursting out laughing. Clary knows for a fact that she's anything but interesting.

Clary rolls her head to the side, her eyes sweeping over the large windows next to the booth she was just sitting in a few moments ago. Its night right now in the city, but that doesn't mean anyone's actually sleeping. The twinkling lights of the street outside blinds her tired eyes making her quickly looks away. Clary closes her sketchbook as Benny approaches her booth with a rolling bucket of soapy water and a mop. She doesn't want anyone to see what's inside her sketchbook, especially that particular sketch. She leans against the table; it groans in protest but otherwise stays still. Benny chuckles as he reaches her, he ruffles her hair while shoving the yellow mop into her small hands.

"Clean," he orders in a fake British accent. She can barely recognize the actually accent, it sounds more like a mumbled 'spleen'. Benny turns to walk away, but before he does, he shoots her a wink and says. "Try not to be such a pain in the ass while you're at it."

"Oh please," Clary exaggerates the _puh_ in the please, trying out her own British accent. It doesn't work too well. "I'm the cutest pain in the ass you'll ever get the chance of meeting Benny."

"You think that hun," Benny let's out roaring laugh, going back to scraping the greasy stovetop.

Clary stares down at the mess at her feet; the coffee has made a river heading towards the other side of restaurant. She groans, draining the mop of the soapy water before slapping it down on the old cheap tile. She pushes it back and forth a couple times until the coffee starts to smear, rather then get soaked into the mop. She plops the mop back into the water. Clary watches as a splash of coffee contaminated water splashes all over her green chucks. She lets out a frustrated growl, fighting the urge to stomp her feet like a child. Clary kicks the bucket as hard as she can, it rolls away from her. A chunk of curly red hair falls in her eyes; she swipes it away quickly, letting out a frustrated gust of breath.

"Clary," Benny barks, she swivels around, glaring at him.

"What?" she snaps, he gives her that 'you're funny' look.

"What do you think you're doing?" he questions, a blackened spatula shakes in his left hand.

"I don't know Benny," Clary mutters, unaware of the audience she has. She feels the familiar tears prick her eyes; everything's been so weird lately. Her mom hasn't been home much, she keeps claiming that she's been busy at the gallery but Clary knows for a fact that isn't the truth. Luke's been ignoring her like plague, and her home feels ghostly and cold all the damn time, Simon's been 'sick', and she feels like someone may be following her. She has no one to turn to in the most desperate time of her life.

"Oh Clary," Benny sighs, he rubs a hand over his five-o-clock shadow, before running the same hand through his unruly dirty blonde hair. He frowns and wrinkle lines appear in his forehead. Clary knows for a fact that Benny isn't old, even if he doesn't know it at times, he's just so busy trying to keep this run down diner in tack that's he's lost his dreams and desires along the line. Her mother is close to Benny, and Benny has been a family friend for years. Clary knows she's not the only one whose world has fallen apart around them, because Benny's has. She knows he's lonely and so does he, he just won't admit it.

Benny reaches her quickly; he extends his muscular arms and grips her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, he asks her. "What's up kid?"

"My mom," Clary starts quietly trying to quickly decide whether or not she wants to ask him this question or not. She does anyway. "What's going on with her?"

Benny's arms drop to his side; he frowns studying Clary with a skeptical look on his face. "Clary, your mother, she's-"

What happens next seems to happen in slow motion . . . Benny lunges towards Clary, a terrified look on his face. Clary stumbles back, her legs buckling underneath her. Her back hits the edge of the table behind her, she slides down, her head slamming into the edge a moment after her back. She crumbles to the cold hard floor too shocked to cry out.

The world around her spins, her head kills, and her ears ring.

The world goes black.

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><p><strong>I honestly have no clue where I am going with this story. I'm kind of just winging it. <strong>

**Feel free to leave feedback or alert this story if you'd like.**

**I don't have an updating schedule or whatever you'd like to call it. So whenever I feel like writing, a new chapter will be posted. The second chapter will be posted soon. **

**Thanks for reading! -Rosie xx**


	2. Chapter 2

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare****

**Wrapped in Piano Strings**

**Chapter two**

The girl lay in the bed unmoving, recently unused sheets pulled up to her chin and her breathing shallow and normal. I could hear it from where I sit in the lumpy chair in the corner, half hoping she'd wake up already so I could question her and half hoping she wouldn't because I didn't want to deal with a clueless little girl.

I sigh rubbing my cheek, my elbow digging into the armrest on the ancient wooden chair. Both Isabelle and Alec sit next to me, Alec reading some book and Isabelle lightly sleeping on her brother's shoulder.

Alec groans, slamming his book shut in his hands and banging his head on the back of the couch. "God damn, will this girl ever wake up?"

"Her brain is trying to heal itself Alec," Hodge limps in, his cane echoing in the quite room. "She'll wake up when she's ready."

"Yeah Alec," I grinned at him. "_When she's ready_."

"Don't mock me Jace," Hodge grunts, but I can hear the amusement in his voice. He nudges me in the shoulder, causing my elbow to slip off the armrest and my head to bob. Alec lurches forward, bursting out in laughter. Isabelle's head falls and slips in between him and the couch.

She lets out a growl, shoving Alec's back forward.

"Alec you asshole," she moans, sitting up. I let out a laugh seeing her bushy hair and sloppy make up.

"Didn't know the Raccoon look was in style these days Iz," I state, smiling coyly at her. She rolls her eyes, chucking one of the gold pillows at me. I deflect it, sending it straight into Alecs unexpecting face.

"Oh no," Hodge murmurs from where he now stands next to the bed where the unnamed girl lays, right as the gold pillow smacks right into my face. Alec lets out a short laugh.

Hodge shakes his head and both Alec and I stop. "This is bad, real bad."

"What's wrong?" Isabelle perks up, happy for the change of topic, which is quite a surprise, seeing as she loves attention on her.

"She seems to have a high temperature," he mutters, more to himself then for the benefit of us knowing. His right hand lies on the girls pale forehead and that's when I see it. Her forehead is thick with sweat; a shiny gloss that is clearly noticeable when paid attention to.

I study the girl; she's different from most of the girls I've encountered. They're all mostly blonde with makeup thicker than the Earth itself caked up on their poor faces. Each one of them comes up to me with a sultry smile, nasally voice, and to short of a dress or skirt sticking tightly to their skin. This girl is different though, when we first found her she didn't have a tight skirt on, but a Ramones t-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. Her red hair, more red then the not so common 'ginger' orange you see at random times, is what Isabelle calls "overly curly". Stacked on top of the small girls head, is worthy enough curls for _Curly Sue,_ but instead of being short and to eighties looking, her curls are huge and long, falling past her belly button. She has almond shaped eyes that I have yet to see the color of and a cute button nose. Freckles dot her face, my most favorite sitting right up above her top pink lip. I shake my head, hoping all these random thoughts about this nameless girl will just go away.

The door of the room burst open and Isabella rushes in with a bucket of water and few rags. I hadn't even realized she left. She stands next to Hodge, the two of them whispering closely. I roll my eyes, stretching my arms behind my head.

"So what do we do now?" Alec questions, leaning against the wall besides the tall wooden dresser.

"If she does in fact have a fever that could be a sign that she's breaking through, but-" Hodge falls silent.

"But what?" I push impatiently hoping that it's not something bad. I know it is though. I just don't understand why I would care. I feel it bubble inside me, the foreign feeling of worry and dread. I feel an unwanted pull towards this red-headed girl and I can't contemplate why. Erase that, I don't want to know why.

"She could be in a coma for weeks, for months, something we don't have proper equipment for."

I search the room; all we have for this girl is a bed and food. We don't have the proper feeding tubes and things to keep her body healthy. She would die here.

"She'd have to go to the hospital, and then we'd have to explain what happened to her," Hodge goes on. "Something we don't entirely know."

"What if she does need to go?" Isabelle questions, I look over at her. She stands next to the bed, an orange sponge in her hand. She pats the girls face with the wet sponge carefully.

"We could dump her? Then tip of the police and they could deal with it," Even I'm appalled at that suggestion. Alec just shrugs, falling back onto the couch. It wobbles, I hope it breaks and sends the idiot sitting in it to the floor. Of course it doesn't though, it stops a moment later and I turn away.

Hodge shakes his head. "Dump a defenseless girl in an alley? I don't think so Alec. Whatever happened to this girl happened by people from _our_ world."

"She doesn't have any marks," I point out. "So she's not a Shadowhunter."

"Is she a vampire? Or maybe a werewolf?" Alecs question hangs in the air for a moment. She could be.

I grunt. "I can only hope she's a damn werewolf. I'd rather have one of those in my house; at least they don't suck blood."

Hodge shakes his head solemnly. "I'm afraid not. If she was a werewolf, her body would have already healed and if she was a vampire, she wouldn't have had any of the wounds she has now. She's a human girl."

"A human girl?" Isabelle scoffs. "Then why in the hell did some demons attack her if she's a simple _human_ girl?" Silence falls over us.

"We don't know if it was demons that attacked her." Hodge points out.

"You could practically smell it in the place," I said wrinkling my noise. When we had arrived at the diner six blocks away, the place stunk of demonic acids. "What else would attack her? Maybe she was in one of their ways or something."

"Well why don't you ask her," Alec's voice cuts through the silence.

"Alec you moron, she's like dead," I roll my eyes, my hand itching to punch him in his idiot face.

I'm wrong though.

"Where am I?" a quiet unfamiliar voice calls out.


	3. We Fall Down

****The characters** of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare.******

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><p><strong><strong>Chapter 3: We Fall Down<strong>**

_Sorry for the late update. I couldn't remember the password or email for this account. _

_I appriacte everyone who has taken the time to read this story. Enjoy._

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><p>Darkness snatches you up in the oddest ways possible. When you are so happy, you can barely see life happening in front of you; darkness appears out of nowhere and swallows you whole. It throws you into a world wind of unwanted emotions like despair and hopelessness. It takes away everything you ever felt happy about and makes you not care about any of it. It makes the good things mean less than the bad things. It makes you angry, it makes you hurt, and it makes you wonder why something could just suddenly take away your happiness for no clear reason. It makes you wonder about what you did to deserve these bad things suddenly happening. You think to yourself, why you? What did you do that was so horrible, why is the world against you? You realize that no matter how much you love life or how much you hate life, darkness has a weird way of working, and it'll do whatever it wants to whoever it wants. Darkness is simply something that you can't stop. It can make any happy life completely suck and any sucky life, suck even more.<p>

Well, at least that's how I feel.

I've always been a pretty good kid. Yeah, my mom's gotten mad at me a little more than a few times, but it's never been about something big. I was a typical kid. I believed in everything a child could believe in. I believed that one day my handsome prince would sweep me off my feet and carry me away in his strong arms that though, never made daddy happy. I believed in all these crazy kid things, I remember believing that even though my Barbie doll was plastic, that maybe she was real somewhere out there. I believed that maybe she was out there roaming the world with her love Ken. Growing up changed so many things, it darkened my world and shrunk my imagination. I quickly came to learn that the closest thing to even being a Barbie doll are all the fake girls with fake boobs and horrible attitudes. I learned that everything I had ever learned before was a complete utter lie. Princes weren't real unless you were fifty-six and living in England, Barbie just was an overly tall, skinny doll that society made every little girl want to take after. The stars weren't put in the sky as a token of someone's love for another and the moon would never shine for just one person. When you're young, your parents urge you to do the best you can and be the best you can, they tell you that. It makes you believe that the world is small and it's an easy place to conquer. They lie. They tell you things are possible, when in reality, they aren't.

Before my daddy was snatched from this cold world, he would bring me far far away from my home of New York City. We would drive up the coast for hours until we reached Old Orchard beach in Maine. He always loved the simple, calm lifestyle of the Northern states. We'd always make it in time for the sunrise, he'd lower me into the sand and we would watch the sky turn into a frenzy of beautiful colors. I loved watching the sky even out into what the weather would hold for the day.

I'd kill to have those simple days back.

"The ocean has its own mind Clare Bear." He'd always whisper to me as the early morning surfers hauled their longboards and sometimes even shortboards into the freezing water and paddled out to meet the waves. Daddy would always explain to me about the art of surfing. He'd tell why the boards had fins and why the surfers wore dry suits. I was so fascinated. I'd sit there with him for hours watching people come in and out of the sea. The way they'd glow with happiness as they walked across the beach after a good surf session always made me giddy inside. I wanted to surf so bad, but he'd always just smile a sad smile at me and shake his head. He never let me try it and once he was gone I knew I never would. I used to look at the sea and think it was a never-ending wonderland, now it just looks like raging darkness. I wasn't worried about the silly things when I was younger. I was unstoppable, life was beautiful and wonderful. It's turned out the opposite; life is too scary to live simply and freely. Times have changed, I had my daddy back then and to me, that made the world spin around.

"Every wave holds its own story, that's what pushes it to shore." He'd tell me.

"Do all waves make it to shore daddy?" I'd ask from my spot in his lap.

"No," he'd say. "Some break in the middle of the sea, those are the special waves."

I never understood what he meant by special waves. I sometimes think he meant that even though some stories end, they're repeated for eternity. I will never know what he meant.

"As long as the waves break, my heart will be right here." He pointed to my chest, his bright sea green eyes smiling into my simple green ones. "Next to yours, even when I'm not here."

I used to wonder if my dad knew he was going to go soon-if he knew was going to suddenly be murdered by an unknown man. The thought would always make my shutter before, but it doesn't leave my conscience. My dad was a strong man, of course he didn't know, he wouldn't have let that happen to him.

Time has stopped. I don't know what's happening. The last thing I remember is hitting the ground at Benny's diner and everything going black. I think I'm stuck in my conscience. I keep seeing these images, almost like they are memories I didn't remember before. Each memory feels familiar, like deja-vu. I know I'm not awake, I believe that I'm simply asleep and instead of waking up after eight hours, I stay here in dreamland all alone. My brain is going haywire. These dream like memories keep happening at random moments and between them I'm stuck in complete darkness alone. Each dream is different, some are happy and some are sad. It's like watching a forever long movie. I get thrown into a bright light every time a new memory dream decides to show itself. The white light consumes me before melting the scene around me like a burning candle stick.

Right now I'm stuck in the darkness. At first it made me antsy and nervous, but I think I'm finally used to it. Being used to it isn't something I should feel. I hate being in this place and the thought of being stuck here makes me shutter, but here I am I laying here like it's the couch in my living room. I stare up at the darkness above me waiting for something to happen.

I suddenly turn numb. I huff as the wind knocks right out of me; it feels like someone is jumping on my chest. I sit up on my elbows, gasping for breath. Something is clogging my airways, my left hand claws at my neck. Tears prick my eyes, but none are able to fall. It's suddenly ice-cold making goose bumps erupt along my arms.

The dream starts to melt before me. I jerk, realizing that I'm underwater. I force my body up, my face breaking the surface of the freezing water. I gasp in the stony fresh air, my throat burns making swallowing hurt. My left hand falls from my neck and goes back under joining the rest of my body. A small wave appears out of nowhere and pushes me. My head doesn't go under this time; the wave just forces me upwards into the sand of the beach behind me. I lay there, trying to understand where I am. The water washes up, drenching me up to my neck. I shiver as it returns to the sea.

Warm hands suddenly wrap around my biceps pulling me up and out of the oncoming water. "Clare bear, what are you doing here?"

My whole body freezes at those words and who it sounds like. This really cannot be happening. I whip around, the fast movement making me dizzy. I stumble back, the strong hands letting go of my arms. I'm back in the ocean, the water moves around my ankles. The fog melts away from my eyes and I stare up at the one person I never thought I'd ever see again.

"Daddy?" I whisper.

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><p><em>It's not the longest chapter, but I really wanted to post this as soon as i figured out the stuff to get into my account so I figured I'd stop at that.<br>I'll be updating super soon._

_-Rosie_


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